


The One Where Jim is a Snot

by Xyriath



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, cavity inducing fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, more of a snot than usual.</p><p>He has the flu.  It isn't his fault, or so he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Jim is a Snot

Leonard McCoy was a doctor, dammit, not some pubescent babysitter that panicked when his charge got sick.

"Can send a man into space but we still can't cure the damned flu," Leonard growled as he grated the fresh ginger root into the soup that was quietly simmering on the stovetop, a perk of being an older student and having one of the nicer rooms on the Academy's campus. It didn't even occur to him anymore to wonder why Jim Kirk had come to _Leonard's_ room when he was sick instead of staying at his own—after all, at this point, it seemed like Jim spent more time in Leonard's.

"I'm fiiiine," Jim said with a grin that was still on a level of stunning unbefitting of a man who had already thrown up twice. "Happens, like, every winter." He shivered and closed his eyes, burrowing further under the pile of blankets that Bones's grandmother had knitted for him. Leonard watched him, concerned, eyes lingering on his lips, terrified of finding a hint of color there. But no, they were a gorgeous pink color, as usual. He yanked his mind away from that direction and continued to interrogate him.

"How about nausea?"

"Nothing more than the usual." Of course the bastard would yawn unconcernedly.

 "Any trouble breathin'? Pressure on your chest? Here, lemme take your temperature."

Jim swatted his hand away. "I'm _fine_ , Bones! I doubt it's changed in the last fifteen minutes!" He took a deep breath to continue protesting, but paused, face contorting. Bones quickly snatched up several tissues and thrust them at him, and Jim grabbed them and covered his nose and mouth while he sneezed, blowing his nose afterwards and tossing them into the trash. "Christ, aren't you a doctor? Aren't you usedto seeing stuff like this?

"Every damn day," he muttered. "The clinic's full of 'em." Something occurred to him, and his eyes widened. "Goddammit, I'm probably the one who brought it home. Got you sick."

Jim just rolled his eyes, the red and blue making a very odd combination. "Yeah, I sincerely doubt that.   Now stop fretting—"

"I ain't _fretting!_ "

"Bones, this is the exact situation that the word 'fret' was created for. You're totally fretting, and I don't understand why if you see this all the time. Your soup is boiling over."

Leonard made a strangled grunting noise and whirled to find that Jim was, indeed, correct. He waved his hand and stirred, doing his best to keep it from burning, and lowered the heat.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he knew the kid was right. He _did_ see this all the time, but all the time… it wasn't Jim. It wasn't his brilliant friend who kept up an aura of indestructibility but who had too many invisible chinks in that armor to count, and push the wrong one and he'd crumble.

Admittedly, the flu _probably_ wasn't one of those, but it never hurt to be extra careful.

"Here," he grumbled, ladling out the soup into a large bowl and thrusting it in Jim's direction. "Drink this, and don't you dare tell me no. Y'need to get somethin' in your stomach, after the way your breakfast came up."

"Seriously. I don’t think I've ever projectile vomited before." The grin on Jim's face let Leonard know that his noise of disgust was not only expected, but the intended result of that comment. He took the spoon and sipped slowly at the soup. "'S good."

Leonard nodded, pleased. "It's an old—"

"Southern family recipe?" Leonard cringed at the mock accent, and he reached forward to swat Jim on the back of the head. He neither confirmed nor denied Jim's theory.

When he was finished, Jim let loose another gigantic yawn and set the bowl aside. He settled back into Leonard's bed, drawing up even more of the covers and closing his eyes. "'S good," he slurred.

"You said that." Leonard's gruff reply was offset by the cool washcloth he laid against Jim's forehead. Jim just exhaled quickly in place of laughter.

"Thanks for letting me use your bed, Bones." He made a contented humming noise before mischief crept into his voice. "Maybe when I'm better we can use it together, hmmm?"

Leonard felt himself flush, grateful that Jim's eyes were closed. Where the hell had _that_ come from?

"That's the sick talkin', you giant child. Go to sleep and I won't hold it against you in the mornin'."

Jim chuckled softly. "Oh, please do. But whatever, I'll just have to…" He yawned, jaw cracking. "Convince you… when I'm…"

Leonard stared at the kid disbelievingly as he dozed off. He had always known Jim Kirk had little shame, but sometimes the kid surprised even him with the extent of it.

Messing with Leonard like that. It was very unkind.

He snatched up the rubbing alcohol and began to systematically disinfect every surface in his room, trying to decide if he should hope that Jim did or did not remember saying that when he woke up in the morning.


End file.
